


"Courtship 101" by Derek Hale

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Based on a Tumblr Post, Courtship, M/M, Oblivious, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(With Corrections by Jackson Whittemore)</p><p>OR</p><p>When Jackson gets cut off a full five months before he comes of age to receive his trust fund, Derek is there to lend his support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Courtship 101" by Derek Hale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yaoilover12397](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaoilover12397/gifts).



> Based on [this tumblr post](http://tryslora.tumblr.com/post/132367947547/luninosity-overhead-while-walking-to-the).
> 
> Dear Yaoilover12397: Thank you for everything that you do to keep us writing and creating art! Fandomers like you are what drive fandom forward!! I sincerely hope you enjoy your gift.
> 
> My heart belongs to Leela, the best beta ever.

**[Me, 4:48pm] _My bank card isn't working. The manager said to have you call them._**

**[David, 5:14pm] _I will not be calling the bank, since I was the one who asked them to freeze your account. Until you can show a bit of the decorum we raised you to have, you won't receive another dime from us._ **

**[David, 5:14pm] _I thought you would have better control, Jackson. This unbecoming behavior is not what we expected of you when we allowed you to receive the bite._**

Jackson threw himself down on the sofa, some part of him enjoying the way it felt to sink into the plush cushions even as he scowled down at his phone. His fucking… 

Fucking _David Whittemore_ , who had spent the last twenty years of Jackson's life trying to simultaneously buy his love and forgiveness while remaining cold and aloof with him personally, had suddenly decided to pull a full reversal? Cutting Jackson off for his 'unbecoming behavior', whatever the fuck _that_ meant.

As he tightened his grip on the phone in frustration, the prick of claws pushing against the inside of the tips of his fingers, it vibrated again in his hand with another text. 

**[David, 5:16pm] _[12252015.jpg]_**

Sneering at the screen, Jackson punched the icon to preview the attachment and then blanched as a photo of him in beta shift — and _only_ in beta shift — flashed across his screen. It stayed there, bright and taunting, until his phone first dimmed, then went dark.

He… didn't really remember streaking through the courthouse parking lot last full moon, but he did remember Stilinski and McCall daring him to join them in their too-literal interpretation of a _full moon_ run. 

There might have been some wolfsbane-and-rum laced eggnog to blame. Or maybe it had been the exhilaration of having fall term finals firmly behind him and a solid 4.0 for the third consecutive semester. Regardless, Jackson had happily shucked his kit and streaked through the relatively well-populated parking lot which was actually in the Beacon Hills town center, smack in the middle of the business district, right when the clubs were letting out and…

Jackson scowled again, throwing his phone across the room so hard it dented the wall and shattered the touch screen.

It wasn't like he'd been arrested. There'd just been a few people around who'd had their phones out and camera apps running when Jackson — and Stilinski and McCall — had whooped and hollered their way through the city center and frolicked around the huge, gaudily-lit Christmas tree right out in front of the actual courthouse. And _maybe_ he'd shown up on a few people's Facebooks, some Instagrams. Possibly a twitter or two.

And okay, David was the district attorney for Beacon County. Who was up for reelection.

But that didn't mean he had to—!

**[David, 5:19pm] _Don't bother trying to use your credit cards, either._**

_Fuck._

**~*~**

Cora paused in the doorway, suddenly enough that Lydia bumped into her before grunting in annoyance.

"As much as I appreciate the view," Lydia snarked, "these bags aren't getting lighter. Move that beautiful ass, gorgeous."

Cora put an extra swing in her step as she walked away, only turning when she smelled the purple tinge of Lydia's interest winding through the air. Then she smirked and blew her girlfriend a kiss before stalking the rest of the way into the room and throwing herself heavily across Jackson's shins. 

Her roommate was a self-important douche, but half the benefit of living with a self-important douche was that Cora didn't ever feel bad for being a first class bitch to him on a daily basis.

Lydia thought it was "sweet," the way they'd "bonded." Cora had laughed directly in her face when she'd said that, so long and loud that Lydia had walked out and refused to so much as send her sexy snapchats for a week.

"Why does it smell of male tears in here?" Cora asked, narrowing her eyes at Jackson. "More so than usual, I mean."

"Fuck off, Hale," Jackson growled — _actually_ growled — which made Cora bare her fangs right back at him until he lowered his gaze in sulky submission, his lower lip pouted out in a way he probably thought was cute but was just way off target. 

Cora was firmly Lydia-sexual, and no amount of pretty boy pouting could ever compete.

"What crawled up your ass and died, Whittemore?" she asked, squirming enough on his legs that her bony ass had to be causing him some real discomfort. Sure enough, he hissed and yanked his legs from under her, rubbing at his shins for a second. "Not that I'm judging you for shoving something up your ass, but you should probably remove the stick first," she added with a smirk.

"Now, now," Lydia chided, stepping into the room with a glass of white wine in hand. Cora couldn't help the grin that twitched at the corners of her lips at the sight. Being the first of their peer group to turn twenty one had gone to her girlfriend's head just a little bit. "Be nice, darling."

"Be less pretentious, sweetie," she simpered in return, feeling a thrill at the way Lydia narrowed her eyes dangerously. Yeah, that was going to get her in trouble tonight. Possibly even edged for several long hours… mmm.

"Ugh," Jackson muttered, the entirety of his disgust at their barely-veiled foreplay written all over his expression and dripping from the disdain lacing his tone. 

Smacking his thigh in a way that would definitely leave a mark — no matter how short-lived — Cora asked again, "What's wrong with you?"

A muscle leapt in Jackson's jaw as he obviously fought against just telling her about whatever was chapping his ass. _This time_. Because experience had taught Cora that Jackson's ass was in a perpetual state of chapped.

"The Whittemores," he finally said, then cut himself off with a low, choked sound.

And Cora's blood froze in her veins, because for all that he didn't smell like pain or anguish or grief, she knew that he might just be in shock. Eyes flicking up to send a questioning glance to Lydia, who just gave a quick shake of her head — she didn't feel any urge to scream, then — Cora sat up straighter and moved just a little closer to Jackson, trying to give off comforting vibes.

From the look he shot her when he raised his head, she wasn't doing a very good job of being comforting.

Right then, she heard the sound of the door opening and soon closing, and the faint scent of _pack_ and _home_ began to seep into the apartment. 

"In here, loser!" she called out, watching as Derek stepped into the small living room with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, I could hear you all," he muttered, rounding the corner in a fitted suit, his tie half-undone. "Sorry, but I had to escape. Uncle Peter and Chris were having date ni—" he managed before his confident stride faltered at the tense atmosphere in the room. "Uh, should I come back later?"

Cora shrugged, elbowing Jackson in the side since she was close enough to do that. "Dunno. Boy Wonder was about to tell us what's got him popping claw boners all over the place."

"I didn't pop—!" Jackson began to protest before he caught sight of Cora's smug grin and subsided with another growl that she didn't bother responding to. "I got cut off, okay? Financially," he muttered, pushing off the couch to grab his phone off the floor so he could show Cora a text stream on his phone that was barely legible through the spider webbing cracks across its surface.

There was a quiet lull for just a moment before a small burst of laughter filled the room, causing everyone to turn to look at Lydia, whose eyes were wide with a little shock at her own behavior. "Oh, sorry. Must be the wine," she murmured before turning and hurrying back toward the kitchen, her giggles quiet but no less audible to sensitive ears.

Cora took another moment to read the texts and let this new information sink in before she forced a scowl onto her face — Lydia was right; it was kinda hilarious — and bit out, "What the fuck, Jack-Ass? I didn't put out an ad for a deadbeat roommate. If you can't pay your half of rent and utilities, I—"

It wasn't like she wasn't going to kick him out. She knew the Whittemores would step in before anything truly unfortunate could happen to their precious son, no matter what asinine thing he'd done to provoke them. But did she want to see him quake in his shoes just a little? Sure. Did she want to watch his eyes grow wide and scared and possibly a little humiliated? Absolutely. 

Did she want him to grovel and beg on bended knee for her to help a brother out? _Oh, hell yes._

So it pissed her off just a tad when Derek cut her little rant off with a snapped, "Shut up, Cora! You're not exactly hurting for money — hell, you're not even the one _paying_ the rent on this place. Mom is! So until this situation gets straightened out, just…" He shrugged one shoulder, gaze flickering between a highly pissed off Cora and a pale and subdued Jackson. "I'll help out with the rent. And utilities and food or whatever."

Cora's brows shot up at that offer from her notoriously penny-pinching brother — he'd actually tried to save money by living in an _abandoned train car_ for his first semester of law school — even as Jackson stiffened beside her, his chin coming up and his douchebro attitude settling right back around him like it'd never left.

"You don't have to do that. I'll go to the bank tomorrow and get a loan to cover me until I turn twenty one in June. They know exactly how much is in my trust fund; they won't risk losing my business when I finally get it."

Derek just waved a hand at him, shrugging again. "It's no problem. I make my money defending supernatural clients against the Beacon County DA, after all. Consider this universal retribution for him cutting you off."

Cora snapped her mouth closed as soon as she realized it'd been hanging open for the better part of this conversation, then got up off the couch in search of her girlfriend's calming presence. Because a world in which her brother casually offered to pick up the tab for her roommate? Absolutely topsy turvy.

**~*~**

Scott leaned against the glass-topped counter, a grin stretching across his mouth as he and Laura messaged back and forth. The university bookstore had a few customers rifling through the shelves, but he'd hear them when they came close enough to demand his attention, so for now he was content to continue their flirtatious banter.

Flirting _and_ goofing off on the job. Stiles would be so proud. 

The bell above the door tinkled softly and a familiar scent made him look up to see Cora, Derek, and Jackson walking in. Cora and Derek had their heads together, talking in low tones while Jackson looked around him like everything from the fluorescent lighting to the industrial tiles were beneath him. 

Well, okay, the tiles _were_ , but…

Scott felt a burst of humor as he remembered the last time he'd seen Jackson, over Christmas break, and how much fun they'd all had together after a few bottles of slightly-illegal booze and some wickedly awesome bad decisions.

"Hey, dude," he called, pitching his voice just loud enough to alert Jackson, but not disturb any of the other patrons. "Wanna come hang again this moon? Last month was _epic_."

"No." Jackson's denial was swift and angry, accompanied by a dark expression that had Scott straightening from the counter and bracing himself. 

Scott might be an alpha to Jackson's beta, but Jackson was giving off some seriously aggressive signals. As stupid as an attack would be, Scott felt a duty to protect both Jackson _and_ the others in the bookstore from potential harm. Even if Jackson's would be, arguably, self-inflicted.

"Whoa," Scott murmured softly, hands raised. "What's up, dude?"

Jackson raked a pinch-lipped look over him before turning his head with a sniff. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing, McCall." 

Scott watched warily as Jackson stalked around the bookstore, yanking texts from the shelves like they'd personally offended him — and you could never tell with Jackson; maybe they _had_ — before practically _stomping_ back to the register with his arms loaded down, though not before Cora slipped into line _just_ ahead of him with a triumphant grin.

"Oh, Derry-poo!" Cora trilled, so much sarcasm in her voice that Scott couldn't help the little laugh that burst from him.

He'd been conditioned by Stiles to find sarcasm the height of wit, after all, and his relationship with Laura had only underscored that training. He wondered idly if he had a _problem_ , being drawn to highly sarcastic personalities like he was. Then he pushed that thought out of his head as Derek sidled up next to his sister, his brows drawing down as he realized Scott would be checking them out.

"Scott," Derek muttered darkly, jaw clenching.

Scott lowered his voice as much as he could and responded in kind. "Derek." Then he cracked a smile, because he just couldn't help himself. The dude's continuing distaste for Scott's relationship with Laura was kinda hilarious.

But then Derek distracted Scott from his amusement by doing something that was, frankly, out of character. He reached over and grabbed the stack of books on the counter in front of Jackson and added them to Cora's pile.

Scott… stared. Then he looked over at Cora to see her reaction, only to find her blinking in dumbfounded amazement just before her own Hale Eyebrows™ dipped in anger.

"No," she growled, the timbre of her voice making something a little too _animal_ rise up in Scott. "I'm not paying for his—"

"I am," Derek hissed, elbowing her to shut her up.

"You don't have to do that," Jackson protested. "I _have_ money."

Derek just rolled his eyes and nodded meaningfully at Scott. "Ring them up."

"So wait," Cora interjected, her voice a bit odd. "You're paying for my books so you can pay for his too? Yeah, okay." She backed away, lips pursed and hands raised in surrender. "Go right ahead, bro."

Derek crossed his arms over his chest, taking on a stubborn, spread-footed stance. "I will."

"Uh, no." Jackson rolled his eyes and reached out to take back his books. "You can get Cora's, but I—"

"Jackson, just—"

Scott, not content to simply _watch_ the silent tug of war Jackson and Derek were having over an art history textbook, lifted his phone and thumbed the camera app over to video before hitting record. Laura would need _proof_ to believe this, even from Scott.

**~*~**

Lydia handed three of her books to Jackson, who simply took them without complaint as they started their journey across campus to the sciences building. It was the lack of complaint that nudged at Lydia's consciousness enough for her to heave a long-suffering sigh and spear him with a look.

"What?"

"Just tell me whatever it is that's eating at you so we can go back to judging the mere mortals, please."

Jackson took a deep breath, then blew it out with a sharp shake of his head. "...I think Derek's hitting on me?"

"Why would it surprise you if he was?" she asked lightly, narrowing her gaze on him.

"It wouldn't! I'm a catch. It's just weird, you know? The rent thing, and the hanging out, and the books." He stared pensively toward where a pair of freshmen were flinging a frisbee around, prompting Lydia to flick his ear to get his attention back where it belonged. On her.

"What books?"

"He tried to buy my textbooks the other day. I didn't let him pay for them," Jackson said with a shrug. "...all," he added in an undertone that he obviously hoped she wouldn't hear. 

Lydia quirked an eyebrow at him just to watch him flush in discomfort.

"What?!"

"Let's review, shall we?" She shifted her bag up her shoulder and extended her perfectly-manicured fingers, one at a time. "He offered to pay your half of rent and utilities for an indefinite period of time. He's been coming over to your apartment so often that it's impacting _my_ sex life—"

"You and Cora could just have sex at _your place_ ," Jackson muttered.

Lydia's quelling glance shut him up so she could continue. "He bought your books, and frequently brings your favorite takeout over for dinner. Plus, he's absolutely gorgeous…" Lydia allowed her voice to trail off, eyes trained subtly on Jackson to see the way his face shifted into a considering look. 

"Well," he finally allowed. "He's a Hale. They're all quite good-looking. Not as beautiful as _we are_ ," he murmured with a slight smirk, "but still decent."

Something occurred to Lydia then and she turned to Jackson with barely-veiled concern. "Does he make you uncomfortable? Is he being a creeper? Cora says he used to be quite the creeper."

"What? No. He's fine. He's actually a lot less intense than he was back when Alpha Hale gave me the bite. More… chill, I guess? Calmer, anyway. And it's nice that he's willing to help Cora and I, with the rent and all the food and the books and—"

"Oh my god," Lydia breathed, a giddy feeling bubbling up inside her. "You _like_ him."

Jackson nearly tripped over his own feet at that. "I'm not gay, Lydia!"

"No, you absolutely are. You're gay for _Derek_ ," she said, her voice stronger now, glee sliding into her tone as she quickened her steps, needing to get to class early so she could text Cora.

"But I'm not gay," Jackson insisted, nearly jogging to keep up with her. "I'm… _shit_. I'm not…"

Pausing for a moment, Lydia turned to him with a sly smile. "He's a lawyer. You could be dating a beautiful, intelligent defense attorney who _consistently hands David Whittemore his ass in court._ "

Jackson stared back at her, gaping in astonishment as his face did _something_. "But," he started to protest, then sagged. "Fuck," he whispered again, blinking slowly at nothing.

Lydia tipped her head, considering. "If you're lucky," she allowed. "At least, if he's anywhere near as good in bed as his sisters."

"Sister _s_?" Jackson asked, eyes flaring wide as her statement distracted him from his gay awakening. "How do you know about Laura?"

"Scott's a talkative drunk," Lydia said with a smirk before yanking her books out of Jackson's hands and spinning on her heel to dash off to class. 

She didn't actually start laughing until she heard him let out a startled, "Shit!" And then, "At most, I'm bi!"

**~*~**

Derek was at his desk, pen in hand as he carefully reviewed the case he would be arguing the next day, making shorthand notes in the margins of his opening argument. A commotion in the outer office caught his attention, but not enough to make him turn his focus away from the file. That explained his surprise when his own office door was flung open to admit his sister's ridiculously attractive roommate.

"Jackson?" he asked, half-standing as he dropped his pen on top of the file, gaze flickering to Isaac, his paralegal, who looked ready to bodily remove Jackson from the premises. "It's all right, Isaac," he murmured, exuding calm. "Jackson is welcome." Then, considering the last few weeks and Jackson's on-going little feud with his adoptive parents, Derek added, "Please close the door on your way out."

The pure judgement in Isaac's wrinkle-nosed expression made Derek scowl at him just a bit until Isaac did as he asked and exited the office, closing the door with a snap that was just loud enough to let Derek know there would be _all_ the office gossip about this moment by the time Jackson left. Stifling a sigh, Derek turned his attention to Jackson, who was pacing in front of his desk, one hand dragging through his hair as he flicked little glances Derek's way.

Giving a subtle sniff, Derek frowned at the bouquet of scents coming off of Jackson. Anticipation, excitement, anxiety, exhilaration… or maybe triumph? It was difficult to separate the nuances, so Derek sat back in his seat and did what he was paid to do.

He used his words.[1]

"What happened?"

Jackson stopped pacing mid-step and turned toward him with a narrow-eyed look. He opened his mouth to say something, only to snap it closed again as the spots of color high on his cheekbones flushed a darker red. Then he lifted his chin and pulled something from his back pocket before slapping it down on Derek's desk.

Raising his eyebrows, Derek reached for the square of folded paper and carefully opened it. It was a… bank statement? Derek flattened it out as best he could and gave it a quick perusal. Definitely a bank statement, for a trust fund with a _lot_ of zeroes. 

Looking up, Derek asked, "Is there a problem with the fund managers? Do you suspect embezzlement? I'm not an estate attorney, but I could put you in touch with—"

"I don't need a sugar daddy," Jackson said, leaning his fists on a small square of clear desk space. "If _anyone's_ the sugar daddy here, it's me. Got it?"

Derek sat back in his seat, absorbing Jackson's words as well as the elation that flooded him to see that the oblivious beta had finally caught on to Derek's courting. After all, it wasn't proper courting etiquette to _tell_ a person they were being courted. Although… "I'm fully aware that you don't need a sugar daddy, Jackson. It wasn't my intention to—"

And once again, Jackson didn't let him finish a thought, speaking over him in a way that would annoy him from anyone else, but simply sent a thrill of amusement through him instead. 

"I'm not gay."

Derek froze, his hands curling around the armrests of his chair until the leather and wood creaked alarmingly. "I see," he finally said through stiff, numb lips. "I apologize for my unwanted attention."

"Shut up. I'm apparently not as straight as I thought I was, either, because once I realized what was going on…" Jackson straightened from where he'd braced himself against the desk, raking a hand through his hair again. "I don't need a sugar daddy, but I'm totally fine with a... boyfriend?" He wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes at the word, but then shrugged and carried on. "A boyfriend who wants to splurge on me. As long as that boyfriend doesn't get all butt hurt when I feel like splurging on him right back." 

"So…?" This time Derek trailed off on his own, needing some clarification, because this conversation had thrown him for about four loops and a tail spin.

"So if you're courting me, you have to be secure enough to not object to me courting you right back." For the first time since he'd barged into Derek's office, Jackson's shoulders relaxed, and the color on his cheeks receded until he was just the smirky, spoiled little bastard Derek had grown to _want_ with a fierceness that startled him at times. 

"Because I will," Jackson murmured, stalking around the big desk and moving a pile of paperwork to the side before easing his ass onto the small bit of cleared space. Derek caught himself before he could object to the misordering of his files because this seemed… more important.

Jackson brought his legs up and dangled them over the armrests Derek was still clutching, his calves a heavy weight pressing into the backs of Derek's hands until he shifted them, letting his palms curl over the bony length of Jackson's shins. And then Jackson gripped the edge of the desk and shifted his body forward until he could lower his ass onto Derek's legs, straddling him, his legs sliding under Derek's hands until he was gripping Jackson's thighs. 

"I've got some making up to do, after all," Jackson whispered, the sultry promise in his voice making Derek's fingers spasm around Jackson's thighs and his dick twitch in his pants.

That fact that this was exactly what Isaac was likely spreading through the office gossip mill didn't stop Derek from running his hands up Jackson's thighs to wrap around his hips and yank him closer. "Hmm," he murmured, leaning forward to press his face to the side of Jackson's neck, inhaling deeply of his spicy scent. "Usually courting starts out with a meal, or some other example of how the wolf initiating the courting is able to provide."

Jackson rolled his hips, grinding against Derek before he started lifting himself back off of him. "If you have objections to my methods—"

Derek growled softly, pulling Jackson back down and thrusting up, just a little. "Does it _feel_ like I have objections?"

Jackson laughed, a low, triumphant sound, the same laugh Derek had heard when Jackson had won at some game or other. It sent a bolt of new lust through Derek, adding to that already flowing through him until he could feel the pressure of his fangs trying to drop down. 

_Fuck_ , he thought, chiding himself for reacting like a freshly bitten wolf. But he didn't stop himself from pulling Jackson flush against him until he could feel the hard length of Jackson's dick through the thick denim of his designer jeans. 

The humor faded from Jackson's face to be replaced by the darkness of _hunger_ , a sight that ratcheted Derek's need higher. Jackson's eyes raked over Derek's face before he leaned down, the tip of his tongue flicking over Derek's bottom lip. At that, Derek groaned and opened his mouth, meeting Jackson's tongue with his own and pushing past it to lick into Jackson's mouth.

"I'm too old to come in my pants like a teenager," Derek whispered against Jackson's mouth long minutes later, reveling in the hot wash of Jackson's breath over his face. 

Jackson pulled back enough to flick a surprised glance down to where they were rutting against each other before he grinned wickedly and rocked against Derek. "That sounds like a challenge," he said, his voice a little cracked, _husky_ and affected by what they were doing.

Derek groaned, stopping Jackson with a shaky but firm grip. "Not here," he said, a little bit of a whine underscoring his words because he _wanted_. Seeing the vulnerable flinch at the corners of Jackson's eyes, Derek stretched up and kissed him again. "I want to," he assured Jackson, his voice deeper than normal as his wolf pushed at him. "I want to put you down on my desk and take you apart over and over until even a frail human nose could smell what we've done here. But I have a meeting with clients in an hour who _will_ smell everything, and honestly? If we do this, I'm not going to be available for them when they arrive. I'll still be buried in your ass or sitting on your dick, so—"

"When do you get off?" Jackson asked, shifting a little impatiently, making Derek groan again at both the implied innuendo and the brush of Jackson's groin against his own.

"I—" Derek started, only to be interrupted by the buzz of his intercom.

" _D.A. Whittemore is here to see you, Mr. Hale,_ " Isaac simpered down the line, the words as effective as ice water at shocking them apart.

Jackson's wide-eyed, panicked look would be hilarious any other time, but since Derek was feeling the same way, they just scrambled to right themselves and get their breath back. Finally, licking his lips, Derek flicked a glance at Jackson, who definitely looked like he'd been doing exactly what they'd been doing — beard burn that would, hopefully, disappear before D.A. Whittemore saw him painted the area around his mouth a bright red — and pressed the button to reply to Isaac. "Give me a moment, and I'll be right out."

" _Uh huh_ ," Isaac sang out before disconnecting.

Derek stared at Jackson, who stared right back before shrugging and tipping his chin up a little haughtily. 

"So. What time should I pick you up for dinner?"

Unable to hold back a grin at that, Derek looked at the clock and made some mental calculations. "Six o'clock, maybe a little later?"

"I'll pick you up at six, then," Jackson said, walking only a little bow-legged toward the door and flinging it open. "After all," he added, where anyone in the office could hear him, "my car is a much better ride for our first date than yours."

"Your car isn't any better than mine." Derek rolled his eyes and skirted around his desk to join Jackson at the door, not surprised at all when Jackson leaned forward and brushed another kiss against his mouth. 

"Uh, excuse you. It's a _Porsche._ " Pulling back, Jackson smirked at him before striding easily from the office, his nose firmly in the air as he sailed past David Whittemore, who watched him leave with a slack-jawed stare before turning to Derek with something very like murder in his eyes.

Well. This was going to be… interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] This may be the most hilarious sequence of lines I've ever written.


End file.
